Eight Years
by scorpiaux
Summary: Kataang, OneShot. She laughed in pure excitement and hugged him. He kissed her neck. “I will,” she whispered, almost breathlessly. “I want you to, Aang. It would be the most perfect thing in the world."


**Eight Years**

**Summary:** Kataang, OneShot. She laughed in pure excitement and hugged him. He kissed her neck. "I will," she whispered, almost breathlessly. "I want you to, Aang. It would be the most perfect thing in the world."

**Author's Note**: So. Let me start by saying that I totally dislike this OneShot. And (if I haven't discouraged you from reading it yet) let me assure you that while it is 100 percent IN character (to make up for my last blunder), it doesn't have the scorpiaux signature.

Maybe I'm wrong?

Enjoy this like chocolate during lent, or food during Ramadan, or wonderfully sexy dreams in the night! -scorpiaux.

* * *

Outside, after nearly all distractions had went to sleep, Aang stayed up and pulled his knees to his chin, watching the dying embers of the group's campfire. There seemed to be too much to think about tonight; and besides, he hadn't been sleeping well for the past week. The ideas would catch up to him.

There was a decision to be made, though he honestly felt ridiculous for even worrying in the first place.

Where was the group supposed to go? The Southern Air Temple required at least three months of hard labor before it could be considered "livable." And the South Pole would be fine for a while...but there was something about living there that bothered him: the size, perhaps, or the fact that there was little privacy between the tribal members.

He heard Katara's soft steps and looked up to find her holding two steaming glasses. She smiled at him and handed him one, sitting to his left.

Aang stated monotonously, "Thanks," and took long slow sips of the tea, finishing it off before it cooled. Katara set her chin in her hand and stared straight ahead of her.

"You haven't been sleeping lately," she said, as if this was news to him.

"I know."

"I told you not to worry about it," she replied, putting her glass down and facing him. "It's really not important where we go next, Aang; really, it isn't."

He furrowed his brows. In the eight years he had known Katara and her brother, one thing had always stayed the same: Katara hogged all the worry. And whenever she felt that anyone else was doing her job, she grew defensive. He touched her hand.

"I'm sorry," he answered, though he was not entirely sure why he was apologizing. "I just want us to have some where to fall back on, you know? We're not made of money. And staying at hotels and palaces is getting a little too..."

"Uncomfortable?"

"Precisely." He shrugged and turned his face, contemplating. "I mean, it's not like I'm not used to this—I don't mind us moving around. The nomads used to do this sort of thing all the time. It's just that—"

"You're starting to think that Sokka and Toph and I can't handle it," Katara finished for him, lifting a brow.

He blinked, caught off guard. "Well—no—"

She pulled her hand away from his. "Aang, if we couldn't handle this, we would have left you a long time ago." She laughed, "I mean, think about it! It's been seven years since the Great War. And during that time"—she listed things on her fingers—"we've went to war meetings, signed treaties, stayed in provinces, met with magistrates...everything. Just because it's over now doesn't mean that we can't do it anymore."

Aang looked at his lap. She pressed her hand to his cheek, turning his face to her; there was a distinct streak of confusion in his eyes, a sort of guilty pleading. And she caught on.

"But that's not the reason, is it?"

"No."

"There's something else?"

He shifted his weight on the ground. "Sort of."

There was a brief pause, during which Katara stood up and put her hands on her hips. He looked up. Her eyes flashed brightly in the darkness surrounding their campsite. "When you decide you want to talk about it," she started quietly, taking his glass, "just let me know."

"Katara," he replied, standing up and touching her shoulder, "I _do_ want to talk about it." She paused and turned her head at an angle, attentive. He continued, "I honestly do. But you're asking me for something that even _I_ don't know about yet. I don't know _why_ I want us to stop somewhere. I just...I don't know—I'm starting to feel that maybe it's important."

She put the glasses down and turned to him. "But _why_? There has to be a reason that we just quit the nomad life."

He moved a hand over his head. "It just is," he answered vaguely. "It would be safer."

"Oh?"

He stated immediately, "Yes," and then fell silent to think. "I mean...it's impossible to tell. It could be dangerous for us to travel now that things are quiet. And the Southern Air Temple could be dangerous too. I'll have to get someone else to rebuild it and make it usable."

"Aang—"

"Really, Katara," he stated, cutting her off and reaching for her hands. "It's just a feeling I have."

She laced her fingers through his and smiled slightly at him, lifting the corner of her mouth quizzically, the way she usually did. And there was a peculiar air about the way she watched him then, as though she was drawing upon a conclusion. "Okay," she started, "let me ask you something, Aang."

He beamed. "Anything."

And then the question came out, though he honestly wasn't expecting it: "Are you having...like, nesting instincts?"

"...What?"

Katara giggled. "Oh, you know!"

He blinked twice, signaling his confusion, and then smiled crookedly and asked, in complete honesty, "You mean how pregnant woman—"

"Ah! No, not _just_ woman." Katara shrugged and laughed again, glancing deviously at him. "Avatars too."

"Hmm."

"You don't believe me?" She pulled him close and kissed him gently, murmuring against his lips, "It's so obvious! We should settle down."

"Like a family," he said, almost absentmindedly. And he wondered how Katara knew how to pinpoint exactly what it was that had been bothering him.

But it dawned upon both of them that what they were referring to—in a loose sense—was directly related to marriage.

And something about the night—or their position there, discussing settling down—snapped in Aang's view, and the worry erupted: he was afraid. Afraid of losing Katara now that things had quieted.

"I want you to marry me," he said suddenly, breaking away from Katara to get a better view of her expression. He grinned when he noticed, in her disposition, a sort of childish excitement, as if she had been waiting for the idea to come from him.

And they couldn't complain. Aang was twenty and Katara twenty-two. So while it wasn't early, it wasn't horribly late, either.

She laughed in pure excitement and hugged him. He kissed her neck. "I will," she whispered, almost breathlessly. "I want you to, Aang. It would be the most perfect thing in the world."

"I'm glad," he replied quietly.

"And now you can stop worrying," Katara returned, squeezing him closer to her and breaking away. "Even if we don't settle down in a single place—I'll always be around." She gestured to Sokka and Toph's sleeping quarters and added, necessarily, "All of us will."

They returned to their respective tents. And falling asleep, for some reason—who knew why!—had never come easier to either of them.

Aang felt ridiculous for ever worrying in the first place.


End file.
